


The disadvantages.

by youngjusticewriter



Series: The advantages of foreknowledge and the disadvantages. [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Master of Death Harry Potter, Multiverse, Not A Fix-It, Not Epilogue Compliant, Time Travel, mentions of child death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-15
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2018-12-30 05:58:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12102288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youngjusticewriter/pseuds/youngjusticewriter
Summary: Somethings can be changed while others, sadly, cannot. Ariana can live, Grindlewald can be mysteriously killed, Tom can be adopted, but Hagrid is expelled, James and Lily are murdered, Harry is raised by the Dursleys and should have been an Obscurus.Or Harry grows up thinking he might be insane instead of the freak he told he is.





	1. Greater good.

"You don't mean – you can't mean the people who live here?" cried out Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore — you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son — I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter come and live here!" 

Despite the years that have past Dumbledore can still remember that smile that never reached Harrison's Avada Kedavra eyes. Or, more accurately Harry's eyes when he had told Albus and Aberforth that he almost an Obscurus like Ariana was. The memory beings a potent mixture of sadness and relief on Albus' already heavy heart. He finally understands the tiredness he always saw in Harrison's- no, Harry's eyes now. 

"It's the best place for him,' Dumbledore's voice was firm even though the man was not in this decision. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly in disbelief before she sat back down on the wall. 

"Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand him! He'll be famous — a legend — I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter day in the future — there will be books written about Harry — every child in our world will know his name!" 

He remembers learning of Grindelwald's death and instinctively knowing who did it. When he questioned Harrison on why he did it and why he never came forward for defeating the Dark Wizard the dark haired wizard's answer had been simple. 

"I was delivering on a promise. I never want any more fame. I've had more than enough unwanted fame to last a lifetime," the older wizard had than given Albus that sad, tired smile of his that never fooled the Dumbledore siblings. Even Ariana had known it was a false thing. 

"Exactly," Dumbledore solemnly said. He looked very serious over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember! Can you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it?" 

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes — yes, you're right, of course." 

"But how is the boy getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing him." Hagrid who Harrison had adored like his own son.  
Till this day Albus believed that had been the main reason why Tom had framed his fellow student. Yes, Hargrid was easy to use as an escape goat but Albus knew how selfish, jealous, and spiteful Tom could be about what he thought was his. (Harry, and even Ariana, had been his family.) Albus had known this ever since he meet the orphan that Harrison had adopted. Albus believed the modern youthful saying was: it takes one to known one. 

"You think it — wise — to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?" McGonagall asked with a raised thin eyebrow.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to — what was that?l 

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky — and a huge motorcycle that Dumbledore recognized as Sirius Black's fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

In the motorcycle sat Hagrid who was holding a bundle of blanket that was most surely Harry. It was a sight for Albus; to see a man he held in such high esteem (and will hold in high esteem) to be a infant. 

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, his relief in his voice. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?" 

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir." 

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir — house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over Harry's forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning. 

The scar was only familiar to Dumbledore even though Hagrid had been acquainted with Harrison; Harrison had grown his already grown out his mess of black hair (that the man swore had a mind of its own much to Ariana's humor) to cover the odd shaped scar when Tom had first started Hogwarts. After all these years Albus finally knew the story behind the scar. It was no wonder why Harrison hated it and had only told Ariana it's backstory. 

"Is that where —?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," Dumbledore answered. "He'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well — give him here, Hagrid — we'd better get this over with." 

Dumbledore gently took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house. 

"Could I — could I say good-bye to him, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "You'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it —Lily an' James dead — an' poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles —"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door.

He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have lost their twinkle for he knew the fate of Harrison Potter despite the fact the Harrison was just an infant. Despite it being for the greater good it was for some reason not easy on Dumbledore. 

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall — Professor Dumbledore, sir." 

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

" I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

'Good luck, old friend," he murmured quietly. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak he was gone like he was never there to begin with, much less once before.


	2. Forgiveness.

"Where is he?" Aberforth simply asked, his anger kept from his tone of voice but was present in his tired eyes. 

Twinkling eyes finally acknowledged his brother's presence; Albus paused from writing his letter to look at Aberforth. 

"You know who Albus," Aberforth snarled fiercely. Aberforth while an unconventional wizard (casting of inappropriate charms on a goat being a reason why he was thought so) was a loyal man to those who had earned his respect and love. Harrison Evans who was more commonly (and famously) known as Harry Potter had earned both. Harrison was family to him - an older brother - despite the years that had gone by; perhaps, even more of brother to Aberforth then Albus. 

Finally Albus' dropped the act of being naive. "He is safe," Albus admitted to his brother before silently dismissing him. Albus picked up his writing quill so he could finish his letter. 

"Safe," Aberforth repeated, the word uttered in complete disbelief. "You gave Harrison to those muggles didn't you?!" Aberforth demanded. For the life of him he couldn't remember the family's name that had raised Harrison. Even though Aberforth was sure Harrison had said their last name once. 

The sound of a quill scratching against parchment was the only sound in the Hogwarts headmaster's office. It was enough of answer for Aberforth who clenched his jaw in a rush of pure hatred. 

While Aberforth and Albus had never gotten along (especially after Grindelwald who would have murdered their sister if Harrison hadn't pushed Ariana out of the way and taken the killing curse in her place) they had never hated each other. Until now that is. 

"One would think you would have learnt about meddling for the greater good by now Albus." Aberforth spat the words 'greater good' as if they were poison. 

Once again Albus paused from writing his letter to acknowledge his younger brother. "He will be safe from Tom and his Death Eaters there." 

There was a flash of sadness on Aberforth's face at the reminder of the morbid irony of this whole situation. "He may be safe from the outside world Albus but will he be safe in his own home? A home he confessed to us that had almost made him an Obscurus just like Ariana." 

Albus' twinkling eyes dimmed finally. "I left a letter that made it quite clear what would happen to them if they mistreated their nephew." 

Bitter laughter filled the room. Albus winced at the sound and placed his quill down on his desk. 

"A letter," Aberforth repeated mockingly. "Tell me me brother. If given a chance would you send those bastards a letter, warning those boys that if they hurt Ariana liked they did you would hurt them instead of just preventing the situation to begin with?" 

Albus' eyes darkened further at the question. "Of course not." Long fingers curved into their palm and made a fist that turned white from how tight Albus was pressing his fingers into his palm. 

"But you won't do it for the man who gave his life for our sister?"

There was no scratching of parchment this time. It was completely silent in the room. 

"Of course not." Aberforth then smiled. It wasn't a pleasant sight to behold. 

"I pity you," the younger brother confessed. "Harrison will forgive you but Ariana and I won't." 

There was nothing left to say after that.


	3. On again.

Nearly ten years had (once again) passed since the Dursleys had woken up to find their nephew on the front step, but Privet Drive had barely changed at all. 

The sun rose on the same tidy front gardens and lit up the brass number four on the Dursleys' front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost exactly the same as it had been on the night when Mr. Dursley had seen that fateful news report about the owls. 

Only the photographs on the mantelpiece showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a large pink beach ball wearing different-colored bonnets — but Dudley was no longer a baby, and now the photographs showed a rather large blond boy riding his first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing a game with his father on the computer, being hugged and kissed by his mother, Petunia. The room held no sign at all that another boy lived in the house, too. 

Yet Harry Potter was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. Petunia, his aunt, was awake and it was her shrill voice that made the first noise of the day. "Up! Get up! Now!" 

Harry woke with a start. Petunia rapped on the door again.

"Up!" His aunt screeched.

Harry heard her walking toward the kitchen and then the sound of the frying pan being put on the stove. He rolled onto his back and tried to make sense of the dream he had. It had been an odd (but Harry had odd dreams for as long as he could remember) and perhaps morbid; most ten year old didn't think (much less dream of) of death - death with a capital d that is. 

He tried to remember the face of the dead woman Death had worn. Death had changed many faces of it's victims - or as Death believed the receiver of its gift - but there had been something about her face. All he could remember was the color of dark red and her eyes ha- 

(Erised stra ehru - 

exactly the same shape, but then he noticed that she was crying; smiling, but crying at the same tim- 

he lost the thought. It was like the more Harry grasped at the memory the more he forget it as silly and stupid as that sounded.) 

His aunt was back outside the door. "Are you up yet?" she demanded.

"Nearly," Harry answered. 

"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday," Petunia snapped at her nephew before walking away from the cupboard. 

Harry groaned.

"What did you say?" Petunia screeched, apparently having heard Harry's groan. 

"Nothing, nothing…"

Dudley's birthday — how could he have forgotten? Harry got slowly out of bed and started looking for socks. He found a pair under his bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them,put them on. Harry was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where he slept since as far as he could remember. 

When he finished dressing Harry went down the hall into the kitchen. The table was almost hidden beneath all Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention a second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Harry, as Dudley was very fat and hated exercise with the exception of punching somebody. Dudley's favourite punching bag was Harry, but his cousin couldn't often catch Harry. He didn't look it, but Harry was exceptionally quick.

Perhaps it had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harry had always been small and skinny. Especially compared to other children of his age. He looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was because all he had to wear were old clothes of Dudley's, and Dudley was about four times bigger than he was.

Harry had a thin face, knobbly knees, black hair, and bright green eyes. He wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because Dudley had punched him on the nose far too many times. 

Then there was his scar. It was a very thin scar on his forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning that (for some reason) always left Harry feeling sick whenever he or others looked (stared, gawked) at it; like he was an snake at the zoo to be watched just because he was a snake (or in Harry's case just because he was scarred) or like he was some freak. Not that Harry ever needed the reminder. The Dursleys would never let a chance slip by to remind him of his 'abnormality.' 

The first question Harry could ever remember asking his Aunt Petunia was how he had gotten it. 

"In the car crash when your parents died," she had told him before snapping at him to not to ask questions. 

Don't ask questions — that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harry was turning over the bacon.

"Comb your hair!" he barked, by way of a morning greeting.

About once a week, Uncle Vernon looked over the top of his newspaper and shouted that Harry needed a haircut. Harry must have had more haircuts than the rest of the boys in his class put together, but it made no difference, his hair simply grew that way — all over the place. It simply had a mind of its own or so Harry thought but never voiced. 

Harry was frying eggs by the time Dudley arrived in the kitchen with his mother. Dudley took after his father. He had a large pink face, not much neck, small, watery blue eyes, and thick blond hair that lay smoothly on his thick, fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel — Harry often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig and was ignored. 

Harry put the plates of egg and bacon on the table, which was difficult task as there wasn't much room. Dudley, meanwhile, was counting his presents. His face fell.

"Thirty-six," he announced , looking up at his mother and father. "That's two less than last year."

"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mummy and Daddy."

"All right, thirty-seven then." Dudley was going red in his face.

Harry, who could see a huge Dudley tantrum coming on, began wolfing down his bacon as fast as possible in case Dudley turned the table over. Which he often did when he didn't get his way.

Aunt Petunia obviously scented danger, too, because she said quickly, "And we'll buy you another two presents while we're out today. How's that, popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right?" 

Dudley thought for a moment; it looked like hard work for the youngest Dursley. 

Finally he said slowly, "So I'll have thirty… thirty…"

"Thirty-nine, sweetums," Aunt Petunia gave the answer away to her son. 

"Oh." Dudley sat down heavily and grabbed the nearest parcel. "All right then."

Uncle Vernon chuckled. "Little tyke wants his money's worth, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley!" He proudly ruffled Dudley's hair.

At that moment the telephone rang and Aunt Petunia went to answer it while Harry and Uncle Vernon watched Dudley unwrap the racing bike (which Harry still didn't understand why it was one of Dudley's presents), a video camera, a remote control airplane, sixteen new computer games, and a VCR. 

Dudley was ripping the paper off a gold wristwatch when Aunt Petunia came back from the telephone looking a mixture of  
angry and worried. 

"Bad news, Vernon," Petunia announced. "Mrs Figg's broken her leg. She can't take him." She jerked her head in Harry's direction.

Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, but Harry's heart gave a leap. Every year on Dudley's birthday, his parents took him and a friend out for the day, to adventure parks, hamburger restaurants, or the movies. Every year, Harry was left behind with Mrs Figg, an old crazy cat lady who lived two streets away. Harry hated it there. The entire house smelled of cabbage and Mrs Figg made him look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned; it was a rather large photo album. 

"Now what?" Aunt Petunia asked her husband, looking furiously at Harry as though he'd planned this.

Harry knew he ought to feel sorry that Mrs Figg had broken her leg, but it wasn't easy when he reminded himself it would be a whole year before he had to look at Tibbles, Snowy, Mr. Paws, and Tufty again.

"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggested and Harry felt immediate fear and anger at the mere Vernon's sister. 

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the boy," Petunia reminded Vernon. The feeling of hatred was mutual but Harry didn't voice this. 

"What about what's-her-name, your friend — Yvonne?"

"On vacation in Majorca," snapped Aunt Petunia.

"You could just leave me here," Harry suggested because despite what his aunt and uncle feared Harry wouldn't burn the house done. Watch television? Yes. Have a go on Dudley's computer? Also yes. Burn the house down? No. 

Aunt Petunia looked as though she'd just swallowed a lemon. "And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarled. Harry didn't bother to tell her that he wouldn't do such a thing. Some things, like trying to get his relatives to believe in him in a good light, were simply hopeless. It wasn't like they would listen anyway. 

" I suppose we could take him to the zoo,' Aunt Petunia slowly suggested. "...and leave him in the car…"

"That car's new, he's not sitting in it alone," Vernon protested. 

Dudley began to cry loudly. In fact, he wasn't really crying — it had been years since he'd really cried — but he knew that if he screwed up his face and wailed, his mother would give him anything he wanted.

"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry, Mummy won't let him spoil your special day!" Petunia cried out before flinging her arms around him.

"I… don't… want… him… t-t-to come!" Dudley yelled between huge, pretend sobs. "He always sp-spoils everything!" He shot Harry a nasty grin through the gap in his mother's arms.

Just then, the doorbell rang —

"Oh, good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia frantically — and a moment later, Dudley's best friend, Piers Polkiss, walked in with his mother.Piers was a scrawny boy with a face that reminded him of a rat. He was usually the one who held people's arms behind their backs while Dudley hit them. 

The idea of having one of his gang members seeing him in such a (false) state had Dudley stop pretending to cry immediately. 

Half an hour later, Harry, who couldn't believe his luck, was sitting in the back of the Dursleys' car with Piers and Dudley, on the way to the zoo for the first time in his life. His aunt and uncle hadn't been able to think of anything else to do with him, but before they'd left, Uncle Vernon had taken Harry aside.

"I'm warning you," Vernon had told him, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry's, "I'm warning you now, boy — any funny business, anything at all — and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas." Harry knew from previous experience that his uncle wasn't bluffing. 

"I'm not going to do anything," said Harry, "honestly…" 

But Uncle Vernon didn't believe him; no one ever did. Though somehow unknowingly turning his math teacher hair blue does that to people. 

The problem was, strange things often happened around Harry and sometimes he dreamt of those strange things. It had only happened a few times but it still happened. Even though Harry could swear till he was blue in the face that it was accident or he didn't know how it happened he was still blamed and sent to cupboard. 

But today nothing - absolutely nothing -was going to go wrong. It was even worth being with Dudley and Piers to be spending the day somewhere that wasn't school, his cupboard, or Mrs Figg's cabbage-smelling living room. 

While he drove, Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Harry, the council, Harry, the bank, Harry, and once again Harry were just a few of his favourite subjects.

This morning, it was motorcycles. "....roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said, as a motorcycle overtook them.

"I once had a dream about a motorcycle,' said Harry, remembering suddenly. "I was older and I was flying with a giant." 

Piers sniggered at Harry. "I thought you said you had a dream about a motorcycle?" Piers' language was rather clean in the presence of Dudley's parents. 

"I was," Harry immediately defended. "The motorcycle could fly."

And that was a mistake because immediately Uncle Vernon almost crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a gigantic beet with a moustache: "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!" 

This time both Piers and Dudley snickered at Harry. 

"I know they don't," Harry admitted. "It was only a dream." But Harry did wish he hadn't said anything. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more than his asking questions, it was his talking about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon — they seemed to think he might get dangerous ideas.

It was a pleasantly sunny Saturday and the zoo was crowded with families. The Dursleys bought Dudley and Piers large chocolate ice creams at the entrance and then, because the smiling lady in the van had asked Harry what he wanted before they could hurry him away, they bought him a cheap lemon ice pop. It wasn't bad, either, Harry thought, licking it as they watched a gorilla scratching its head who looked remarkably like his cousin except that it wasn't blond like Dudley.

Harry had the best morning he'd had in a long time. He was careful to walk a little way apart from the Dursleys so that Dudley and Piers, who were starting to get bored with the animals by lunchtime, wouldn't fall back on their favourite hobby of Harry hunting. 

They ate in the zoo restaurant, and when Dudley had a tantrum because his knickerbocker glory didn't have enough ice cream on top, Uncle Vernon bought him another one and Harry was allowed to finish the first.

Harry felt, afterward, that he really should have known it was all too good to last.

After lunch they went to the reptile house. It was cool and dark in there, with lit windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, all kinds of snakes and lizards were slithering and crawling over bits of wood and stone.

Dudley and Piers wanted to see huge, poisonous cobras and thick, man-crushing pythons. Dudley quickly found the largest snake in the place. It could have wrapped its body twice around Uncle Vernon's car and crushed it into a trashcan — but at the moment it didn't look in the mood. In fact, it was fast asleep.

Dudley stood with his nose pressed against the glass, staring at the glistening brown coils.

"Make it move," he whined at his father. 

Uncle Vernon tapped on the glass, but the snake didn't budge.

"Do it again," Dudley ordered petulantly. 

Uncle Vernon rapped the glass smartly with his knuckles, but the snake kept napping. 

"This is boring," Dudley moaned. He shuffled away like a penguin. 

Harry moved in front of the tank and looked intently at the snake. He wouldn't have been surprised if it had died of boredom itself — no company except stupid people drumming their fingers on the glass trying to disturb it all day long. It was worse than having a cupboard as a bedroom, where the only visitor was Aunt Petunia hammering on the door to wake you up; at least he got to visit the rest of the house. Maybe he had a family, Harry mused as the snake finally opened its eyes and winked. 

Harry stared in disbelief. Then he looked quickly around to see if anyone was watching; they weren't. He looked back at the snake and winked back. The snake jerked its head toward Uncle Vernon and Dudley, then raised its eyes to the ceiling. It gave Harry a look that said quite plainly:

"I get that all the time." 

"I know," Harry murmured through the glass, though he wasn't sure the snake could hear him. "It must be really annoying." 

The snake nodded vigorously.

"Where do you come from, anyway?" Harry asked.

The snake jabbed its tail at a little sign next to the glass. Harry peered at it. Boa Constrictor, Brazil.

"Was it nice there?" Harry asked because he never been anywhere else but England. 

The boa constrictor jabbed its tail at the sign again and Harry read on: This specimen was bred in the zoo. 

"Oh, I see — so you've never been to Brazil?" 

As the snake shook its head, a deafening shout behind Harry made both of them jump.

"DUDLEY! MR DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!" 

Immediately a sense of dread washed over Harry. Dudley came waddling toward them as fast as he could.

"Out of the way, you," he said, punching Harry in the ribs.

Caught by surprise, Harry fell hard on the concrete floor. What came next happened so fast no one saw how it happened — one second, Piers and Dudley were leaning right up close to the glass, the next, they had leapt back with howls of horror.

Harry sat up and gasped; the glass front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished.

The great snake was uncoiling itself rapidly, slithering out onto the floor. People throughout the reptile house screamed bloody murder before starting to run for the exit. 

As the snake slid swiftly past him, Harry could have sworn a low, hissing voice said, "Brazil, here I come… Thanksss, amigo." 

The keeper of the reptile house was in shock. "But the glass,' he kept muttering, "where did the glass go?" 

The zoo director himself made Aunt Petunia a cup of strong, sweet tea while he apologized over and over again. Piers and Dudley could only gibber. As far as Harry had seen, the snake hadn't done anything except snap playfully at their heels as it passed, but by the time they were all back in Uncle Vernon's car, Dudley was telling them how the snake had nearly bitten off his leg, while Piers was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death.

But worst of all, for Harry at least, was Piers calming down enough to say, "Harry was talking to it, weren't you, Harry?" 

Never had Harry hated Piers till the moment his uncle glared at Harry through the display mirror in the car. 

Uncle Vernon waited until Piers was safely out of the house before starting on Harry. He was so angry he could hardly speak. He managed to say, "Go — cupboard — stay — no meals," before he collapsed into a chair, and Aunt Petunia had to run and get him a large brandy.

Harry lay in his dark cupboard much later, wishing he had a watch. He didn't know what time it was and he couldn't be sure the Dursleys were asleep yet. Until they were, Harry wasn't going to dare risk sneaking to the kitchen for some food.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "A scattered dream that's like a far-off memory... a far-off memory that's like a scattered dream... I want to line the pieces up. Yours and mine. 
> 
> Congrats if you can name this quote from my childhood without having to google it.


	4. Letter from no one once again.

The escape of the Brazilian boa constrictor earned Harry his longest-ever punishment. By the time he was allowed out of his cupboard again, the summer holidays had started and Dudley had already crashed his remote control airplane, broken his new video camera, and, first time out on his racing bike, knocked down poor old Mrs. Figg as she crossed Privet Drive on her crutches. While Harry was glad school was over, there now was no escaping Dudley's gang, who visited the house every single day. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid, but by their sense of thought since Dudley was the biggest and stupidest of the lot, he was the leader. 

The rest of them were all quite happy to join in Dudley's favourite sport: Harry Hunting. 

This was why Harry spent as much time as possible out of his aunt and uncle's house, wandering around and thinking about the end of the holidays, where he could see a tiny ray of hope. When September came he would be going off to secondary school and, for the first time in his life, he wouldn't be with Dudley. Dudley had been accepted at Uncle Vernon's old private school, Smeltings. Piers Polkiss was going there too. Harry, on the other hand, was going to Stonewall High, the local public school. Which Dudley thought was very funny.

"They stuff people's heads down the toilet the first day at Stonewall," he informed Harry. "Want to come upstairs and practice?" 

"No, thanks," Harry replied. "The poor toilet's never had anything as horrible as your head down it. It might be sick."  
Then he ran, before (on the off chance) Dudley did somehow manage work out what Harry had said. 

One day in July, Aunt Petunia took Dudley to London to buy his Smeltings uniform.  
Harry was left at Mrs Figg's during that day. Mrs Figg wasn't as bad as usual. It turned out she'd broken her leg tripping over Tufty (who was one of her several cats) and she didn't seem quite as fond of them as before. She let Harry watch television and gave him a bit of chocolate cake that tasted as though she'd had it for several years; it was still nice of her though. It wasn't often Harry received anything sweet. 

That evening, Dudley paraded around the house for the family in his brand-new uniform. Smeltings' boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, used for hitting each other while the teachers weren't looking. This apparently was supposed to be good training for later life. How? Harry didn't know. 

As Uncle Vernon looked at his son in his new knickerbockers, Uncle Vernon said gruffly that it was the proudest moment of his life. Aunt Petunia then dramatically burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up. Harry couldn't trust himself to speak. He thought two of his ribs might already have cracked from trying not to laugh though. 

There was a horrible smell in the kitchen the next morning when Harry went in to make breakfast. It seemed to be coming from a large metal tub in the sink. He went to have a look. The tub was full of what looked like dirty rags swimming in grey water.

"What's this?" he asked his aunt and immediately her thin lips tightened as they always did if he dared to ask a question.

"Your new school uniform," she informed him. 

Harry looked in the bowl again. "Oh," he said, "I didn't realize it had to be so wet."

"Don't be stupid," snapped Aunt Petunia. "I'm dying some of Dudley's old things grey for you. It'll look just like everyone else's when I've finished." 

For some reason Harry highly doubted that but didn't voice that doubt. After all it was useless to argue with the Dursleys. He sat down at the table and tried not to think about how he was going to look on his first day at Stonewall High — like he was wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably.

Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both with wrinkled noses because of the smell from Harry's new uniform. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual and Dudley banged his Smelting stick, which he carried everywhere, on the table. They heard the click of the mail slot and flop of letters on the doormat.

"Get the mail, Dudley," Uncle Vernon ordered, not bothering to look up from the news paper.

"Make Harry get it," was Dudley's response. 

"Get the mail, Harry," Uncle Vernon ordered, still not bothering to look up from his news paper. 

"Make Dudley get it," Harry bravely suggested since his uncle had wanted Dudley to grab the mail in first place. 

"Poke him with your Smelting stick, Dudley," was Uncle Vernon's response. 

Harry dodged the Smelting stick and went to grab the mail. Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge (who Harry had always been forced to refer to as Aunt Marge), who was vacationing on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill, and — a letter for Harry. Immediately Harry picked it up and stared at it in disbelief. 

His heart was twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who would? He had no friends nor any other relatives besides the ones he dreamt of; Harry didn't even have a library card, so he'd never even got rude notes asking for books back. Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:

Mr. H. Potter  
The Cupboard under the Stairs  
4 Privet Drive  
Little Whinging  
Surrey

The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp on it. 

Turning the envelope over, his hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H. Harry softly (for fear in destroying it) traced lion and snake with his thumb. There was something almost familiar about the coat of arms. Like he had seen it bef- 

"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke. 

Harry went back to the kitchen, still staring at his letter in disbelief. He handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down, and slowly began to open the yellow envelope.

Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust, and flipped over the postcard.

"Marge's ill," he informed his wife. "Ate a funny whelk…"

"Dad!" Dudley cried out suddenly. "Dad, Harry's got something!" 

Harry, who had been the point of unfolding his letter (which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope), had it jerked sharply out of his hand by Uncle Vernon.

"That's mine!" Harry protested before hopelessly trying to snatch it back from his uncle. 

"Who'd be writing to you?" rudely sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it. His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds his face was the greyish white of old porridge.

"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped out. 

Dudley attempted to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach. Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.

"Vernon! Oh my goodness — Vernon!"

They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry and Dudley were still in the room, having a silent understanding of something what that something was neither boy in the kitchen knew. Dudley, not use to being ignored, gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smelting stick.

"I want to read that letter," he rudely and loudly demanded. 

"I want to read it as it's mine," Harry reminded his aunt and uncle furiously. It wasn't only because it was his first letter but because- Harry had this feeling in his gut. The letter, simply put, was important. How Harry knew that wasn't known to him. He just knew. Just as a baby just knows to breathe Harry supposed. 

"Get out, both of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.

Harry didn't move nor would he voluntarily do so. That was his letter. His. Not Dudley's. Not his aunt nor his uncle's but his. "I WANT MY LETTER!" he shouted.

"Let me see it!" demanded Dudley.

"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took both Harry and Dudley by the scruffs of their necks and threw them into the hall, slamming the kitchen door behind them. 

Harry and Dudley promptly had a furious but silent fight over who would listen at the keyhole; Dudley won, so Harry (his glasses dangling from one ear) lay flat on his stomach to listen at the crack between door and floor.

"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, "look at the address — how could they possibly know where he sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?" 

"Watching — spying — might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon widely, paranoia already seeping in. 

"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want —" 

Harry could see Uncle Vernon's shiny black shoes nervously pacing up and down the kitchen.

"No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer… Yes, that's best… we won't do anything…" 

"But —" 

"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took him in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?" 

Dangerous nonsense? Harry wondered. Freakiness and abnormality were often the words used to describe Harry by his relatives but dangerous nonsense? How were his dreams his aunt and uncle deemed insane dangerous? How was somehow unknowingly turning his teacher's hair blue dangerous? Given Harry, despite the years that had gone by, still didn't know how he had pulled that off.  
But how were those things dangerous? 

That evening when he got back from work, Uncle Vernon did something he'd never done before; he visited Harry in his cupboard.

"Where's my letter?" said Harry, the moment Uncle Vernon had managed to squeeze a part of himself through the door. "Who's writing to me?" 

"No one. It was addressed to you by mistake," said Uncle Vernon shortly. "I have burned it."

Harry raised an eyebrow it utter disbelief.  
"It was not a mistake," said Harry angrily, " it had my cupboard on it."

"SILENCE!" yelled Uncle Vernon, and a couple of spiders fell from the ceiling. He took a few deep breaths as though to calm himself and then forced his face into a grotesque smile which quite honestly looked painful and was most certainly painful to look at. 

"Er — yes, Harry — about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking… you're really getting a bit big for it… we think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom." 

Harry stared. Disbelief growing oh so strong. Was this another one his weird dreams he wondered briefly before dismissing the thought. 

"Why?" Harry finally asked. 

"Don't ask questions," snapped his uncle. "Take this stuff upstairs, now." 

The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually for Aunt Marge), one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. 

It only took Harry one trip upstairs to move everything he owned from the cupboard to this room. He sat down on the bed and stared around him. Nearly everything in here was broken or damaged including Harry himself. 

The month-old video camera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next door neighbour's dog; in the corner was Dudley's first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot through when his favourite program had been cancelled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it.

Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched. 

From downstairs came the sound of Dudley bawling at his mother, "I don't want him in there… I need that room… make him get out…" 

Harry sighed before stretching out on the bed. Yesterday he'd have given anything to be up here. Today he'd rather be back in his cupboard with that mysterious letter than up here without it.

Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He'd screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother, and thrown his poor and innocent tortoise through the greenhouse roof, and he still didn't have his room back.

Harry was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing he'd opened the letter in the hall. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.

When the mail arrived, Uncle Vernon, who for some odd reason seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smelting stick all the way down the hall. Then he shouted, "There's another one! "Mr. H. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive -" 

With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon leapt (something Harry hadn't known his uncle capable of until that moment) from his seat and ran down the hall, Harry right behind him. Uncle Vernon had to wrestle Dudley to the ground to get the letter from him, which was made difficult by the fact that Harry had grabbed Uncle Vernon around the neck from behind. 

After a minute of confused fighting, in which everyone got hit a lot by the Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon straightened up, gasping for breath, with Harry's letter clutched in his hand.

"Go to your cupboard — I mean, your bedroom,' he wheezed at Harry. 'Dudley — go — just go."

Harry walked round and round his new room. Someone knew he had moved out of his cupboard and they seemed to know he hadn't received his first letter. Surely that meant they'd try again? And this time he'd make sure they didn't fail. He had a plan.

The repaired alarm clock rang at six o'clock the next morning. Harry turned it off quickly and dressed silently. He mustn't wake the Dursleys. He stole downstairs without turning on any of the lights.

He was going to wait for the postman on the corner of Privet Drive and get the letters for number four first.

His heart hammered as he crept across the dark hall toward the front door —

"AAAAARRRGH!"

Harry leapt into the air; he'd trodden on something big and squashy on the doormat — something alive!Lights clicked on upstairs and to his absolute horror Harry realized that the big, squashy something had been his uncle's face.

Uncle Vernon had been lying at the foot of the front door in a sleeping bag, clearly making sure that Harry didn't do exactly what he'd been trying to do. He shouted at Harry for about half an hour and then told him to go and make a cup of tea. Harry shuffled miserably off into the kitchen and by the time he got back, the mail had arrived, right into Uncle Vernon's lap. Harry could see three letters addressed in green ink.

"I want —" he began, but Uncle Vernon was tearing the letters into pieces before his eyes.

Uncle Vernon didn't go to work that day. He stayed at home and nailed up the mail slot.

"See," he explained to Aunt Petunia through a mouthful of nails, "if they can't deliver them they'll just give up." 

"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon," Petunia tried to reason with her husband. 

"Oh, these people's minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not like you and me," said Uncle Vernon, trying to knock in a nail with the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him. 

On Friday, no less than twelve letters arrived for Harry. As they couldn't go through the mail slot they had been pushed under the door, slotted through the sides, and a few even forced through the small window in the downstairs bathroom.

Uncle Vernon stayed at home again. After burning all the letters, he got out a hammer and nails and boarded up the cracks around the front and back doors so no one could go out. He hummed "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" as he worked, and jumped at small noises.

On Saturday, things began to get out of hand. Twenty-four letters to Harry found their way into the house, rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs that their very confused milkman had handed Aunt Petunia through the living room window. While Uncle Vernon made furious telephone calls to the post office and the dairy trying to find someone to complain to, Aunt Petunia shredded the letters in her food processor.

"Who on earth wants to talk to you this badly?" Dudley asked Harry in amazement.

On Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sat down at the breakfast table looking tired and rather ill, but happy.

"No post on Sundays,' he reminded them cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, "no damn letters today —" Those words were famous last words as  
something came whizzing down the kitchen chimney as he spoke and caught him sharply on the back of the head. Next moment, thirty or forty letters came pelting out of the fireplace like bullets. The Dursleys ducked, but Harry leapt into the air trying to catch one —

"Out! OUT!" Uncle Vernon seized Harry around the waist and threw him into the hall. When Aunt Petunia and Dudley had run out with their arms over their faces, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut. They could hear the letters still streaming into the room, bouncing off the walls and floor.

"That does it," said Uncle Vernon, trying to speak calmly but pulling great tufts out of his moustache at the same time. "I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!" 

He looked so dangerous with half his moustache missing that no one dared argue. Ten minutes later they had wrenched their way through the boarded-up doors and were in the car, speeding toward the highway. Dudley was sniffling in the back seat; his father had hit him round the head for holding them up while he tried to pack his television, VCR, and computer in his sports bag.

They drove. And they drove. Even Aunt Petunia didn't dare ask where they were going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction for a while.

"Shake 'em off… shake 'em off," he would mutter whenever he did this.

They didn't stop to eat or drink all day. By nightfall Dudley was howling. He'd never had such a bad day in his life. He was hungry, he'd missed five television programs he'd wanted to see, and he'd never gone so long without blowing up an alien on his computer. 

Uncle Vernon stopped at last outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley and Harry shared a room with twin beds and damp, musty sheets. Dudley snored but Harry stayed awake, sitting on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars because he didn't want to sleep. Last night he had a terrifying nightmare. It had been weird at the same time as well as scary. All he could see was black. There had been a woman screaming and Harry had felt...like he would never be happy again as silly as that sounded. 

Maybe the Dursleys were right, Harry thought fearfully. Maybe there was something wrong and freakish with him. Maybe they were right in punishing him. 

Who dreamt of death - Death with a capital d that is- that talked of other worlds and time that somehow Harry had (or more accurately would) disrupted? Of Death talking about other deaths of other worlds rather it be entities, persons, or gods (gods with a lowercase g that is)?  
Or dreaming of never being happy again. Harry didn't want to be a freak. He didn't mean to - it just happened. It honestly did. 

That morning they ate stale cornflakes and cold tinned tomatoes on toast for breakfast. 

They had just finished when the owner of the hotel came over to their table.

''Scuse me, but is one of you Mr. H. Potter? Only I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk." 

She held up a letter so they could read the green ink address:

Mr. H. Potter  
Room 17  
Railview Hotel  
Cokeworth

Harry made a grab for the letter but Uncle Vernon knocked his hand out of the way. The woman stared.

"I'll take them," said Uncle Vernon, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.

"Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia suggested timidly, hours later, but Uncle Vernon didn't seem to hear her. Exactly what he was looking for, none of them knew. He drove them into the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car, and off they went again. The same thing happened in the middle of a ploughed field, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multilevel parking garage.

"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asked Aunt Petunia dully late that afternoon.

Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and disappeared.

It started to rain. Great drops beat on the roof of the car. Dudley snivelled.

"It's Monday," he told his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a television."

Monday. This reminded Harry of something. If it was Monday — and you could usually count on Dudley to know the days the week, because of television — then tomorrow, Tuesday, was Harry's eleventh birthday. Of course, his birthdays were never exactly fun — last year, the Dursleys had given him a coat hanger and a pair of Uncle Vernon's old socks.

Still, you weren't eleven every day. Uncle Vernon was back and he was smiling.

He was also carrying a long, thin package and didn't answer Aunt Petunia when she asked what he'd bought.

"Found the perfect place!" he said. "Come on! Everyone out!" 

It was very cold outside the car. Uncle Vernon was pointing at what looked like a large rock way out at sea. Perched on top of the rock was the most miserable little shack you could imagine. One thing was certain, there was no television in there.

"Storm forecast for tonight!" said Uncle Vernon gleefully, clapping his hands together. "And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!" 

A toothless old man came ambling up to them, pointing, with a rather wicked grin, at an old rowboat bobbing in the iron-grey water below them.

"I've already got us some rations," said Uncle Vernon, "so all aboard!"

It was freezing in the boat. Icy sea spray and rain crept down their necks and a chilly wind whipped their faces. After what seemed like hours they reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon, slipping and sliding, led the way to the broken-down house.

The inside was horrible; it smelled strongly of seaweed, the wind whistled through the gaps in the wooden walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. There were only two rooms.

Uncle Vernon's rations turned out to be a bag of chips for each and four bananas. He tried to start a fire but the empty chip bags just smoked and shrivelled up. 

"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he said cheerfully.He was in a very good mood. Obviously he thought nobody stood a chance of reaching them here in a storm to deliver mail. Harry privately agreed, though the thought didn't cheer him up at all.

As night fell, the promised storm blew up around them. Spray from the high waves splattered the walls of the hut and a fierce wind rattled the filthy windows. Aunt Petunia found a few mouldy blankets in the second room and made up a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon went off to the lumpy bed next door, and Harry was left to find the softest bit of floor he could and to curl up under the thinnest, most ragged blanket.

The storm raged more and more ferociously as the night went on. Harry couldn't sleep. He shivered and turned over, trying to get comfortable, his stomach rumbling with hunger. Dudley's snores were drowned by the low rolls of thunder that started near midnight. The lighted dial of Dudley's watch, which was dangling over the edge of the sofa on his fat wrist, told Harry he'd be eleven in ten minutes' time. He lay and watched his birthday tick nearer, wondering if the Dursleys would remember at all, wondering where the letter writer was now.

Five minutes to go. Harry heard something creak outside. He hoped the roof wasn't going to fall in, although he might be warmer if it did.

Four minutes to go. Maybe the house in Privet Drive would be so full of letters when they got back that he'd be able to steal one somehow.

Three minutes to go. Was that the sea, slapping hard on the rock like that?

And (two minutes to go) what was that funny crunching noise? Was the rock crumbling into the sea?

One minute to go and he'd be eleven.

Thirty seconds…

Twenty…

Ten…

Nine — maybe he'd wake Dudley up, just to annoy him —

Three…

Two…

One…

BOOM.

The whole shack shivered and Harry sat bolt upright to stare at the door. Someone was outside, knocking to come in. But who?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who else thinks Harry (from the books not my fanfic) is a sassy cinnamon roll that the Wizarding World doesn't deserve? 
> 
> Harry Potter (the character not the fandom) appreciation time: everything in Dudley's second room (besides the books) are broken yet somehow Harry manages to fix the alarm clock in there so he can wake up and grab the letter before his aunt and uncle are awake. 
> 
> J.K.Rowling appreciation time: I can't believe I'm just now noticing but she mentions Aunt Marge and Sirius in the first book. 
> 
> J.K.Rowling bashing time: apparently since Tom Riddle was conceived when his mom had his father under a love potion he will never love. So what? By that logic any child conceived from rape (which yes Tom's mom did rape Tom Riddle Senior) will never love too? Because that's basically what she's saying.


	5. A giant from your dreams.

BOOM. Whoever or whatever was at the door strongly knocked once again. Dudley jerked awake.

"Where's the cannon?" he stupidly asked. There was a crash behind them and Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room. He was holding a rifle in his hands and now Harry knew what had been in the long, thin package he had brought with them.

"Who's there?" Harry's uncle shouted. "I warn you. I'm armed!" 

There was a pause. Then —

SMASH. 

The door was hit with such force that it swung clean off its hinges and with a deafening crash landed flat on the floor.

A giant of a man was standing in the doorway and Harry stared in disbelief. Was he dreaming this? Quickly Harry pinched his arm and yes this wasn't a dream. Even though Harry had seen this man in his dreams. 

The giant's face was almost completely hidden by a long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild, tangled beard, but you could make out his eyes, glinting like black beetles under all the hair.

The stranger squeezed his way into the hut, stooping so that his head just brushed the ceiling. He bent down, picked up the door, and fitted it easily back into its frame. The noise of the storm outside dropped a little. He turned to look at them all.

"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey…" 

He strode over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen with fear. "Budge up, yeh great lump," said the stranger.

Dudley squeaked in terror and ran to hide behind his mother, who was crouching, terrified, behind Uncle Vernon.

"An' here's Harrison," announced the giant.

Harry looked up into the fierce, wild, shadowy face and saw that the beetle eyes were crinkled in a kind smile. 

"Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," the giant told Harry. "Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mom's eyes."

Uncle Vernon made a funny rasping noise.

"I demand that you leave at once, sir!" he ordered. "You are breaking and entering!"

"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," said the giant before he reached over the back of the sofa, jerked the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands, bent it into a knot as easily as if it had been made of rubber, and threw it into a corner of the room.

Uncle Vernon made another funny noise, like a mouse being trodden on.

"Anyway — Harrison," said the giant, turning his back on the Dursleys, "a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here — I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right." 

From an inside pocket of his black overcoat he pulled a slightly squashed box. Harry opened it with trembling fingers. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with Happy Birthday Harry written on it in green icing. 

Harry looked up at the giant. He meant to say thank you but the words got lost on the way to his mouth. Despite the feeling of somewhat distant familiarity about the man Harry asked, "What's you're name?" 

The giant chuckled. "True, I haven't introduced myself. My bad I'm Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts." 

He held out an enormous hand and shook Harry's whole arm.

"What about that tea then, eh?" he said, rubbing his rather large hands together. "I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind." 

His eyes fell on the empty grate with the shrivelled chip bags in it and he snorted. He bent down over the fireplace; they couldn't see what he was doing but when he drew back a second later, a roaring fire had appeared.It filled the whole damp hut with flickering light and Harry felt the warmth wash over him as though he'd sunk into a hot bath.

The giant sat back down on the sofa, which sagged under his weight, and began taking all sorts of things out of the pockets of his coat: a copper kettle, a squashy package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that he took a swig from before starting to make tea.

Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling sausage. Nobody said a thing while the giant was working, but as he slid the first six fat, juicy, slightly burnt sausages from the poker, Dudley fidgeted a little. Uncle Vernon said sharply, "Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley." 

The keeper of the keys chuckled darkly at that. "Yer great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursley, don' worry." 

He then passed the sausages to Harry, who was so hungry he had never tasted anything so wonderful, but he still couldn't take his eyes off the stranger. Finally, as nobody seemed about to explain anything, he said, "I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are." 

The giant took a gulp of tea and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Call me Hagrid," he said, "everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts — yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course." 

"Er — no," Harry answered slightly awkward since he doubted insane and imaginative (though perhaps not so insane) dreams count. 

Hagrid looked shocked.

"Sorry," Harry apologized quickly. 

"Sorry?" barked Hagrid like one of Aunt Marge's dogs which is to say like a mad dog. He turned to glare at the Dursleys, who shrank back into the shadows. If looks could kill Harry would be homeless as well as an orphan. "It's them as should be sorry!" Hagrid roared. "I knew yeh weren't gettin' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?" 

"All what?" asked Harry.

"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid thundered. "Now wait jus' one second!" He had leapt to his feet. In his anger he seemed to fill the whole hut. The Dursleys were cowering against the wall.

"Do you mean ter tell me," he growled at the Dursleys, "that this boy — this boy! — knows nothin' abou' — about ANYTHING?" 

Harry thought this was going a bit far. He had been to school, after all, and his marks weren't bad. They weren't that good either because the Dursleys wouldn't stand for Harry to be better than their son. 

"I know some things," he protested. "I can, you know, do math and stuff." 

But Hagrid simply waved his hand and said, "About our world, I mean. Your world. My world. Yer parents' world." 

"What world?"

Hagrid looked as if he was about to explode or perhaps commit murder. "DURSLEY!' he boomed. 

Uncle Vernon, who had gone very pale, whispered something that sounded like "Mimblewimble." 

Hagrid stared wildly at Harry. "But yeh must know about yer mom and dad," he said. "I mean, they're famous. You're famous." 

"What? My — my mom and dad weren't famous, were they?" 

"Yeh don' know… yeh don' know…" Hagrid muttered brokenly before running his fingers through his hair, fixing Harry with a bewildered stare. "Yeh don' know what yeh are?" he said finally.

Uncle Vernon had found his voice. "Stop!' he commanded suddenly. "Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell the boy anything!"

A braver man than Vernon Dursley would have quailed under the furious look Hagrid now gave him; when Hagrid spoke, his every syllable trembled with rage. "You never told him? Never told him what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer him? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from him all these years?"

"Kept what from me?" Harry asked eagerly because perhaps he wasn't insane or a freak by those odd things he did accidentally. 

"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" yelled Uncle Vernon in complete panic and Aunt Petunia gave a gasp of horror.

"Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh," said Hagrid. "Harry — yer a wizard," he simply and quite bluntly informed Harry. 

Harry blinked. A sense of déjà vu hit him quite suddenly; as though he had been here before or perhaps dreamt of this moment before which really wasn't too hard to believe since Hagrid had been in one of his dreams before. 

There was silence inside the hut. Only the sea and the whistling wind could be heard.

"I'm a what?" Harry finally asked despite the fact he had heard just fine. His head was starting to ache for some reason. 

"A wizard, o' course," Hagrid answered, sitting back down on the sofa, which groaned and sank even lower, "an' a thumpin' good 'un, I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be?" 

Obscurus. The word for some reason came to Harry's mind that aching had become worse and Harry felt sick instead of warm from the fire and food he had eaten. The name Credence came to Harry's mind next and then Ariana even though Harry had meet anyone named those names. 

"An' I reckon it's abou' time yeh read yer letter," continued Hagrid. 

Harry stretched out his hand at last to take the yellowish envelope, addressed in emerald green to

Mr. H. Potter  
The Floor  
Hut-on-the-Rock  
The Sea

Harry pulled out the letter and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

New questions exploded inside Harry's head like fireworks and pushed those odd names and that word from Harry's mind.   
He couldn't decide which to ask first. After a few minutes he stammered, "What does it mean, they await my owl?" 

"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," said Hagrid, clapping a hand to his forehead with enough force to knock over a cart horse, and from yet another pocket inside his overcoat he pulled an owl - a real, live, rather ruffled-looking owl - and a long quill, and a roll of parchment. With his tongue between his teeth he scribbled a note that Harry could read upside down:

Dear Professor Dumbledore,

Given Harry his letter.

Taking him to buy his things tomorrow.

Weather's horrible. Hope you're well.

Hagrid

Hagrid rolled up the note, gave it to the owl, which clamped it in its beak, went to the door, and threw the owl out into the storm. Then he came back and sat down as though this was as normal as talking on the telephone.

Harry realised his mouth was open wide and closed it quickly.

"Where was I?" Hagrid asked, but at that moment, Uncle Vernon, still ashen-faced but looking very angry, moved into the firelight.

"He's not going," he said.

Hagrid grunted. "I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop him," he said.

"What's a muggle?" Harry asked. 

"It's what we call non-magic folk like them. An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on." 

"We swore when we took him in we'd put a stop to that rubbish," said Uncle Vernon, "swore we'd stamp it out of him! Wizard indeed!" 

"You knew this whole time?" Harry asked in disbelief. "You knew I'm a wizard and still-" 

"Knew!" shrieked Aunt Petunia suddenly. "Knew! Of course we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that — that school — and came home every vacation with her pockets full of frogspawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was — a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!" 

She stopped to draw a deep breath and then went ranting on. It seemed she had been wanting to say all this for years. "Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as — as — abnormal   
and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!" 

Harry had gone very white and felt so very sick. As soon as he found his voice he said, "Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!" 

"CAR CRASH!" roared Hagrid, jumping up so angrily that the Dursleys scuttled back to their corner. "How could a car crash kill Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Harry Potter not knowin' his own story when every kid in our world knows his name!" For some reason that wasn't pleasant to know that. 

"But why? What happened?" Harry asked urgently.

The anger faded from Hagrid's face. He looked suddenly anxious. "I never expected this," he muttered, in a low, worried voice. "I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin' hold of yeh, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Harrison, I don' know if I'm the right person ter tell yeh — but someone's gotta — yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin'." 

He threw the ugliest look one could imagine at the Dursleys. "Well, it's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh — mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it." 

He sat down, stared into the fire for a few seconds, and then said, "It begins, I suppose, with — with a person called — but it's incredible yeh don't know his name, everyone in our world knows —" 

"Who?" Harry asked because he needed to know. 

"Well — I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does." 

"Why not?"

"Gulpin' gargoyles, Harry, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went… bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was…" Hagrid gulped, but no words came out.

"Could you write it down?" Harry suggested.

"Nah — can't spell it. All right —Voldemort." Hagrid shuddered. "Don' make me say it again. Anyway, this — this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too — some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was gettin' himself power, all right. Dark days, Harry. Didn't know who ter trust, didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches… terrible things happened. He was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him — an' he killed 'em. Horribly. One o' the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway. Now, yer mum an' dad were as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst'ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em on his side before… probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin' ter do with the Dark Side. Maybe he thought he could persuade 'em… maybe he just wanted 'em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You was just a year old. He came ter yer house an' — an' —"

Hagrid suddenly pulled out a very dirty, spotted handkerchief and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn.

"Sorry," he apologized. "But it's that sad — knew yer mum an' dad, an' nicer people yeh couldn't find — anywa…You-Know-Who killed 'em. An' then — an' this is the real myst'ry of the thing — he tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin' by then. But he couldn't do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh — took care of yer mum an' dad an' yer house, even — but it didn't work on you, an' that's why yer famous, Harry. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you, an' he'd killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age — the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts — an' you was only a baby, an' you lived." 

Something very painful was going on in Harry's mind. As Hagrid's story came to a close, he saw again the blinding flash of green light, more clearly than he had ever remembered it before — and he remembered something else, for the first time in his life: a high, cold, cruel laugh.

Hagrid was watching him sadly.

"Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought yeh ter this lot…" 

"Load of old tosh," said Uncle Vernon.

Harry jumped; he had forgotten that the Dursleys were there. Uncle Vernon certainly seemed to have got back his courage. He was glaring at Hagrid and his fists were clenched.

"Now, you listen here, boy," he snarled, "I accept there's something strange about you, probably nothing a good beating wouldn't have cured and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdoes, no denying it, and the world's better off without them in my opinion asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types — just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end —" 

But at that moment, Hagrid leapt from the sofa and drew a battered pink umbrella from inside his coat. Pointing this at Uncle Vernon like a sword, he said, "I'm warning you, Dursley — I'm warning you — one more word…"

In danger of being speared on the end of an umbrella by a bearded giant, Uncle Vernon's courage failed again; he flattened himself against the wall and fell silent.

"That's better," said Hagrid, breathing heavily and sitting back down on the sofa, which this time sagged right down to the floor. Harry, meanwhile, still had questions to ask, hundreds of them.

"But what happened to Vol-, sorry — I mean, You-Know-Who?" The name didn't scare him but Harry wasn't going to scare off the first person in his life to tell him about truth. 

"Good question, Harry. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see… he was gettin' more an' more powerful — why'd he go? Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don' reckon they could've done if he was comin' back. Most of us reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you finished him, Harry. There was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't counted on — dunno what it was, no one does —but somethin' about you stumped him, all right." 

Hagrid looked at Harry with warmth and respect blazing in his eyes, but Harry, instead of feeling pleased and proud, felt sad for some reason and that this was some horrible mistake. A wizard? Him? How could he possibly be? He'd spent his life being clouted by Dudley, and bullied by Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon; if he was really a wizard, why hadn't they been turned into warty toads every time they'd tried to lock him in his cupboard? But then there were his dreams...

Surely though if he'd once defeated the greatest sorcerer in the world, how come Dudley had always been able to kick him around like a football?

"Hagrid," he said quietly, "I think you must have made a mistake. I don't think I can be a wizard."

To his surprise, Hagrid chuckled. "Not a wizard, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?" 

Harry looked into the fire. Now he came to think about it… every odd thing that had ever made his aunt and uncle furious with him had happened when he, Harry, had been upset or angry… chased by Dudley's gang, he had somehow found himself out of their reach… dreading going to school with that ridiculous haircut, he'd managed to make it grow back… and the very last time Dudley had hit him, hadn't he got his revenge, without even realising he was doing it? Hadn't he set a boa constrictor on him?

Harry looked back at Hagrid, smiling, and saw that Hagrid was positively beaming at him.

"See?" said Hagrid. "Harry Potter not a wizard — you wait, you'll be right famous at Hogwarts."

But Uncle Vernon wasn't going to give in without a fight. "Haven't I told you he's not going?" he hissed like a snake. "He's going to Stonewall High and he'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and he needs all sorts of rubbish — spell books and wands and —"

"If Harrison wants ter go, a great Muggle like you won't stop him," growled Hagrid.  
"Stop Lily an' James Potter's son goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. His name's been down ever since he was born. He's off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and he won't know himself. He'll be with youngsters of his own sort, fer a change, an' he'll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had Albus Dumbled—" 

"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HIM MAGIC TRICKS!" Uncle Vernon screamed bloody murder. 

But he had finally gone too far. Hagrid seized his umbrella and whirled it over his head, "NEVER INSULT ALBUS DUMBLEDORE IN FRONT OF ME!"

He brought the umbrella swishing down through the air to point at Dudley — there was a flash of violet light, a sound like a firecracker, a sharp squeal, and the next second, Dudley was dancing on the spot with his hands clasped over his fat bottom, howling in pain. When he turned his back on them, Harry saw a curly pig's tail poking through a hole in his trousers.Uncle Vernon roared. Pulling Aunt Petunia and Dudley into the other room, he cast one last terrified look at Hagrid and slammed the door behind them.

Hagrid looked down at his umbrella and stroked his beard.

"Shouldn'ta lost me temper," he said ruefully, "but it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn't much left ter do." 

Somehow Harry managed not to snort at that. Hagrid cast a sideways look at Harry under his bushy eyebrows.

"Be grateful if yeh didn't mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts," he said. "I'm — er — not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff — one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job." 

"Why aren't you supposed to do magic?" asked Harry.

"Oh, well — I was at Hogwarts meself but I — er — got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore." 

"Why were you expelled?" After the words came out of his mouth Harry just realized how rude they were and how personal the answer might be. 

"It's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," said Hagrid loudly. "Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an' that." 

He took off his thick black coat and threw it to Harry.

"You can kip under that," he said. "Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o' dormice in one o' the pockets."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I probably should have done this earlier but I'm doing it now and I'll add the tag once I've finished posting this chapter. 
> 
> Warning (in case any readers haven't read the previous works in this series): this isn't compliant with Deathly Hallows' Epilogue and sure as hell isn't compliant with the Cursed Child (which don't get me started on unless you want a rant). It wasn't even compliant before Harry time traveled and fixed/screwed up the timeline. 
> 
> I'm going to go ahead and address something else. I'm doing all the books on this fic and I'll post some side fics about the series later (once I finish book one). There will be no real ships except maybe background Albus/Grindlewald but I probably won't even do that. 
> 
> No Harry/Ginny, Ron/Hermione, Harry/Hermione, Harry/Credic, Harry/Draco, Hermione/Draco, Ron/Lavender Brown or any pairing you can imagine. Tom and Harry's relationship is father and son nothing else in this fic. While Tom holds Harry in high regard for their similarities, having conquered Death, and adopting him it's just father and son. Tom loves Ariana like a sister and nothing else. 
> 
> Yes, Harry and Ginny had James Sirius Potter in the original timeline but after their son's murder Harry and Ginny break of the engagement. Yes, Albus had a thing for Grindlewald but it's really isn't going to mentioned till later or maybe not at all in this fic. We'll see how it turns out but I'm going ahead and stating this. 
> 
> If you ship any of these ships great for you! Shipping is great for fandoms and it's fun (with a side of heartbreak considering who you ship). I'm not going to bash any ships btw. Just because I don't ship it doesn't mean I'm going to bash it. Because to be honest there was only one Harry Potter couple I shipped before Fcawtft came out. As a kid I shipped Harry/Hermione but now (as a teenager) the only couples I ship in HP universe are Luna/Neville (and J.K. Rowling decided to destroy that one small ship of mine) and Queenie/Jacob. (Though I will occasionally ship a HP couple from a fic if the fic is well written.) 
> 
> I'm just not really going to write any ships because this part of the series isn't really about romantic relationships but about the repercussions of time travel and Harry's family (the Dumbledores, Ron and Hermione, Tom and James, Dobby and Kreacher, Sirius and Remus). 
> 
> Sorry about ranting. I just needed to go ahead and state this things.


	6. Brother against brother. Father against son.

Despite being awake and being able to tell it was daylight Harry kept his tightly shut; not ready to face reality and disappointment just yet. 

It had been a dream, he told himself firmly. Just another one of his crazy dreams. After all he dreamt of Hagrid before what where the chances of his dreams coming true? 

When I open my eyes I'll be at home in my cupboard, Harry found himself thinking. 

There was suddenly a loud tapping noise.

And there's Aunt Petunia knocking on the door, Harry thought, his heart sinking but he still didn't open his eyes; it had been such a good dream. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"All right," Harry mumbled, "I'm getting up."

He sat up and Hagrid's heavy coat fell off him. The hut was full of sunlight, the storm was over, Hagrid himself was asleep on the collapsed sofa, and there was an owl rapping its claw on the window, a newspaper held in its beak.

Harry scrambled to his feet, so happy he felt as though a large balloon was swelling inside him. He went straight to the window and jerked it open. The owl swooped in and dropped the newspaper on top of Hagrid, who didn't wake up. The owl then fluttered onto the floor and began to attack Hagrid's coat.

"Don't do that, Hedwig," Harry mumbled sleepily. Sluggishly he tried to wave the owl out of the way, but it snapped its beak fiercely at him and carried on savaging the coat. "Hagrid!" Harry cried out loudly. "There's an owl —" 

"Pay him," Hagrid grunted into the sofa.

"What?" Harry asked. Perhaps Hagrid was still asleep? Pay an animal? 

"He wants payin' fer deliverin' the paper. Look in the pockets." 

Hagrid's coat seemed to be made of nothing but pockets were filled with bunches of keys, slug pellets, balls of string, peppermint humbugs, teabags… finally, Harry pulled out a handful of coins. 

"Give him five Knuts," said Hagrid sleepily.

Without really thinking about it Harry picked five of the bronze coins and the owl very dramatically stuck it's leg out so Harry could put the money into a small leather pouch tied to it. Then the owl flew off through the open window.

Hagrid yawned loudly, sat up, and stretched. "Best be off, Harry, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an' buy all yer stuff fer school." 

Harry was turning over the wizard coins and looking at them. He had just thought of something that made him feel as though the happy balloon inside him had got a puncture.

"Um — Hagrid?"

"Mm?" said Hagrid, who was pulling on his huge boots.

"I haven't got any money — and you heard Uncle Vernon last night… he won't pay for me to go and learn magic." 

"Don't worry about that," said Hagrid, standing up and scratching his head. "D'yeh think yer parents didn't leave yeh anything?"

"But if their house was destroyed," Harry reminded Hagrid only to be cutoff by the giant. 

"They didn' keep their gold in the house, boy! Nah, first stop fer us is Gringotts. Wizards' bank. Have a sausage, they're not bad cold — an' I wouldn' say no teh a bit o' yer birthday cake, neither."

"Wizards have banks?" The moment the question was voiced did Harry realize how stupid it was. 

"Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins." 

Harry dropped the bit of sausage he was holding. "Goblins?" 

"Yeah — so yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it, I'll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Harry. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe — 'cept maybe Hogwarts." 

For some reason Harry's felt like snorting. Why, Harry didn't know. 

Harry followed Hagrid out onto the rock. The sky was quite clear now and the sea gleamed in the sunlight. The boat Uncle Vernon had hired was still there, with a lot of water in the bottom after the storm.

"How did you get here?" Harry asked, looking around for another boat.

"Flew," Hagrid answered. 

"Flew?" 

"Yeah — but we'll go back in this. Not s'pposed ter use magic now I've got yeh." 

They settled down in the boat, Harry still staring at Hagrid, remembering the dream he told the Dursleys that almost caused his uncle to crash the car. 

"Seems a shame ter row, though," said Hagrid, giving Harry another of his sideways looks. "If I was ter — er — speed things up a bit, would yeh mind not mentionin' it at Hogwarts?" 

"Of course not," said Harry, eager to see more magic in real life and not just in his dreams. 

Hagrid pulled out his umbrella and tapped it twice on the side of the boat. They sped off toward land.

"Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?" Harry finally got around to asking. 

(Don't remember you were - "You dug the grave."

"unusual wizard- that I was the goblin who showed you to your vault, the first - 

"Break into a Gringotts vault?" repeated the creature on the bed wincing a little at the movement. "It is impossible."

"No, it isn't," the ginger haired man - brother?- contradicted him. "It's been done."

"Yeah," Harry said. "The same day I first met you, Griphook. My birthday, seven years ago.") 

"Spells — enchantments," said Hagrid, unfolding his newspaper as he spoke. "They say there's dragons guardin' the high security vaults. And then yeh gotta find yer way — Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh'd die of hunger tryin' ter get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat." 

( "We should close his eyes."

There was hardly any time left; now was the moment to decide: Horcruxes or Hallows?

\- drumming its arms with his spindly fingers. "Though the goblins of Gringotts will consider it base treachery, I have decided to help you -"

Gold. 

No gold; I've have gold. 

"I want the sword. The sword of Godric Gryffindor," and Harry's heart plummeted.  
No. They needed to get into the vault but without the sword how could-) 

The thought was gone. Harry was left blinking and oh did his head ache. It wasn't still Harry looked down at his lap did he notice the blood falling from his noise. Oh, Harry thought dumbly before he started searching the jacket's pockets for a tissue or napkin. Eventually he found one and pressed it against his noise while Hagrid read his newspaper, the Daily Prophet. 

Harry had learned from Uncle Vernon that people liked to be left alone while they did this, but it was very difficult, despite his noise bleeding Harry had never had so many questions in his life.

"Ministry o' Magic messin' things up as usual," Hagrid muttered before turning the page.

"There's a Ministry of Magic?" Harry asked, before he could stop himself.

'"Course,"said Hagrid. "They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, o' course, but he'd never leave Hogwarts, so old Fudge got the job after Evan's disappearance. Bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin' fer advice." 

"But what does a Ministry of Magic do?" Harry asked because for once he meet another wizard and Hagrid seem completely fine with Harry asking questions. 

"Well, their main job is to keep it from the Muggles that there's still witches an' wizards up an' down the country." 

"Why?" 

"Why? Blimey, Harry, everyone'd be wantin' magic solutions to their problems. Nah, we're best left alone." 

Suddenly (or perhaps not suddenly since Harry hadn't been paying attention) the boat bumped into the harbor wall. Hagrid folded up his newspaper before they climbed out of the boat and clambered up the stone steps onto the street.

Passersby stared a lot at Hagrid as they walked through the little town to the station. Harry couldn't blame them. 

Not only was Hagrid twice as tall as anyone else, he had pointed at perfectly ordinary things like parking meters and saying loudly, "See that, Harry? Things these Muggles dream up, eh." while Harry had thrown his bloody tissue away. 

"Hagrid," said Harry, panting a bit because he had to run to keep up with the giant. "did you say there are dragons at Gringotts?"

"Well, so they say," said Hagrid. "Crikey, I'd like a dragon." 

"You'd like one?" Harry repeated. Dread for some reason washed over him. 

"Wanted one ever since I was a kid — here we go." 

They had reached the station and in five minutes time there would be a train to Lodon. Hagrid, who didn't understand "Muggle money", as he called it, gave the bills to Harry so he could buy their tickets.

People stared more than ever on the train. Hagrid took up two seats and sat knitting what looked like a canary-yellow circus tent.

"Still got yer letter, Harry?" Hagrid asked as he counted stitches.

Harry took the parchment envelope out of his pocket.

"Good," said Hagrid. "There's a list there of everything yeh need." 

Harry unfolded a second piece of paper he hadn't noticed the night before, and read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM  
First-year students will require:  
Three sets of plain work robes (black)  
One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear  
One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)  
One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)  
Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags

COURSE BOOKS  
All students should have a copy of each of the following: T  
he Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)by Miranda Goshawk  
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot  
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling  
A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch  
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore  
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger  
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander  
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT  
1 wand 1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)  
1 set of glass or crystal phials  
1 telescope set  
1 brass scales  
Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

Out of everything on the note the first thing out of Harry's mouth was: "Who's Newt Scamander?" 

For some reason Harry felt as though he should know who he was despite never meeting the man It was like it was at the tip of his tongue but Harry could not remember.

Hagrid got this look on his face. The same look he had on his face when he admitted to Harry he wanted a dragon since he was a kid. 

"He's a brilliant Magizoologist," Hagrid answered Harry. 

"A magizoo what?" Harry asked and he winced at how he miss pronounced the foreign word. 

"A person who studies magical creatures. Crikey, I wanted to be one growing up," Hagrid confessed with a far off look in his eyes. "He's a friend a mine. Good ol Dumbledore introduced us for our shared love of creatures." 

They in silence after that before Harry once again asked at question about the list. 

"Can we buy all this in London?" Harry wondered aloud.

"If yeh know where to go," said Hagrid.

Harry had never been to London before. Hagrid though seemed to know where he was going, he was obviously not used to getting there in an ordinary way. He got stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground, and complained loudly that the seats were too small and the trains too slow.

"I don't know how the Muggles manage without magic," he said as they climbed a broken-down escalator that led up to a bustling road lined with shops.

Hagrid was so huge that he parted the crowd easily; all Harry had to do was keep close behind him. They passed several stores of different varieties and fast food joints but none of them looked anything magical. This area was normal and ordinary. Some place the Dursleys would surely approve of. Was this a huge joke the Dursleys cooked up Harry thought before quickly dismissing the thought. He had dreamt of Hagrid before. That and Harry knew the his aunt and uncle had no sense of humor. 

"This is it," Hagrid announced before coming to a halt, "the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place." 

It was a tiny and perhaps a bit filthy looking pub. If Hagrid hadn't pointed it out, Harry wouldn't have noticed it was there. Everyone else walking by them and the Leaky Cauldron didn't even at it from the corners of their eyes. Their eyes just slide past it to look at the stores on its sides (a rather large bookshop and a quaint looking record shop) as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all. In fact, Harry had the most peculiar feeling that only he and Hagrid could see it.

Before Harry could ask about it Hagrid went inside and Harfy dutifully followed the giant. 

Why the Leaky Cauldron was famous was beyond Harry. It was poorly lit, rather shabby, and there were only a few costumers who immediately became silent as soon as Hagrid and Harry stepped in. All of them seemed to know Hagrid; they waved and smiled at him, and the bartender reached for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"

"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," was Hagrid's answer. 

"Good Lord," the bald bartender murmured, peering at Harry, "is this — can this be —?" 

Suddenly it was completely silent and rather awkward. 

"Bless my soul," whispered the old bartender, "Harry Potter… what an honor." 

He hurried out from behind the bar, rushed toward Harry and seized his hand. The man had tears in his eyes and despite this all Harry could feel was this upset and uncomfortable feeling in his stomach. 

"Welcome back, Mr Potter, welcome back."

Harry didn't know what to say. Everyone was looking at him. The old woman with a pipe was puffing on it without realizing it had gone out. Hagrid was, simply put, beaming. Then there was a great scraping of chairs and the next moment, Harry found himself shaking hands with everyone in the there. 

Harry, who been taught by the Dursleys to do chores and not be seen nor heard, was uncomfortable at being the center of all these strangers' attention. All he wanted to do was bolt out of here but Harry smiled instead. 

No one commented on how uncomfortable he looked. It wasn't surprising. Harry knew how to give a believable smile even if he was anything but happy. He had to loving with the Dursleys; with Uncle Vernon who already thought he was ungrateful child.

"Doris Crockford, Mr Potter, can't believe I'm meeting you at last."

"Always wanted to shake your hand — I'm all of a flutter." 

"Delighted, Mr Potter, just can't tell you, Diggle's the name, Dedalus Diggle." 

"I've seen you before!" Harry nearly shouted as Dedalus Diggle's top hat fell off in his excitement. "You bowed to me once in a shop." 

"He remembers!" Dedalus Diggle cried out looking as though Christmas came early. "Did you hear that? He remembers me!" 

Harry shook hands again and again — Doris Crockford kept coming back for more. A pale young man made his way forward that Harry had yet to shake hands with.

"This is Professor Quirrell!" Hagrid informed Harry. "Harry, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts." 

"Potter," Professor Quirrell said before grasping Harry's hand, "I can't tell you how pleased I am to meet you." 

"What sort of magic do you teach, Professor Quirrell?" Harry asked as they shook hands even though the need to run away was by far stronger than when he first arrived. 

"Defence Against the Dark Arts," Professor Quirrell answered for him with a kind (wrong) smile. 

"Not that you need it, eh, Potter?" Quirrell said before giving a laugh. While not nervous it wasn't a happy laugh either. Honestly, there was something about the man that made the hair on Harry's back stand up. 

"You'll be getting all your equipment, I suppose? I've got to pick up a new book on vampires, myself." Quirrell admitted to them while still smiling (lying). 

The other wizards and witches wouldn't let Professor Quirrell keep Harry to himself. It took almost ten minutes to get away from them all. At last, Hagrid managed to make himself heard over the babble.

"Must get on — lots ter buy. Come on, Harry." 

Hagrid grinned at Harry apparently not picking up on how Harry hadn't enjoyed the attention. He was famous for surviving the night his parents were murdered. When he was just a baby. What was so celebratory about that? 

"Told yeh, didn't I? Told yeh you was famous." 

"Is Professor Quirrell always like that?" Harry asked as they walked or more accurately Hagrid walked and Harry ran to keep up with the giant. 

"Oh he's a brilliant mind. I've heard he's meet and survived vampires in the Black Forst and had some nasty bit o' trouble with a hag. They say that he was shy and preferred reading his books over real adventures but after those encounters he's been better. More confident then back at his days at Hogwarts — now, where's me umbrella?"

Vampires? Hags? Harry's head was swimming from just those two names of supernatural creatures. Hagrid, meanwhile, was counting out loud the bricks in the wall. 

"Three up… two across… Right, stand back, Harry." 

He tapped the wall three times with the point of his umbrella.The brick he had touched actually it wriggled and in the middle, a small hole appeared. It kept growing until a second later they were facing an archway large enough even for Hagrid, an archway onto a cobbled street that twisted and turned out of sight.

"Welcome," said Hagrid, "to Diagon Alley." 

He grinned at Harry who was gawking not in amazement but in a sense of what was that word? 

Déjà vu! That was it. Before Harry could think about if further Hagrid stepped through the archway and Harry followed. .

The sun shone brightly on a stack of cauldrons outside the nearest shop. Cauldrons — All Sizes — Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver — Self-Stirring — Collapsible, said a sign hanging over them.

"Yeah, you'll be needin' one," Hagrid informed Harry, "but we gotta get yer money first." 

Hooting came from a shop with a sign saying Eeylops Owl Emporium — Tawny, Screech, Barn, Brown, and Snowy. Several boys about Harry's age had their noses pressed against a window with actually broomsticks in it taking about one of them being the fastest ever. 

There were shops everything to anything one could imagine. Cauldrons, spell books, potion ingredients, and robes for both formal and informal occasions. 

"Gringotts," Hagrid announced suddenly.

They had reached a white building that was blemish free and towered over the other ever other shop. It was an intimidating sight and that was before Harry read the words engraved on the second pair of doors: 

Enter, stranger, but take heed  
Of what awaits the sin of greed,  
For those who take, but do not earn,  
Must pay most dearly in their turn.  
So if you seek beneath our floors  
A treasure that was never yours,  
Thief, you have been warned, beware  
Of finding more than treasure there.

For some reason Harry could actually hear the voice of the creature (his name had been Griphook, Harry recalled several minutes later) say some of engraved words after telling Harry he had no chance. 

"Like I said, Yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," said Hagrid interrupting Harry's thoughts. 

A pair of goblins bowed to them before Hagrid and Harry entered a vast marble hall. There were hundreds of goblins that were sitting on high chairs behind a long counter doing various tasks. There were numerous doors leading off the hal yet goblins (and sometimes the wizards following) moved in and out of them in utter ease. 

"Morning," said Hagrid to a goblin as soon as they reached the counter. "We've come ter take some money outta Mr Harry Potter's safe."

"You have his key, sir?" 

"Got it here somewhere," Hagrid answered before he started emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering a handful of mouldy dog biscuits over the goblin's book of numbers.

The goblin wrinkled his nose but Harry wasn't paying attention to him but rather the goblin on their right weighing a pile of gems. 

"Got it," Hagrid announced finally as he held up a rather tiny key.

The goblin looked at it closely. "That seems to be in order," the goblin told them. 

"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore. It's about the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen." 

For some odd and unknown reason Harry felt unease wash over him like a tsunami that Harry had learned about on a documentary when Dudley, who'd been asleep and snoring quite loudly, had accidentally pressed a button on the living room tv on night. 

The goblin read the letter carefully.

"Very well," he said, handing it back to Hagrid, "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!" The goblin cried out and Harry whirled around to see the goblin, Griphook, was the creature from his - his what? - whatever that was although Griphook looked far more healthy and sharply dressed. 

Once Hagrid had crammed all the funky smelling biscuits back inside his pockets, they followed Griphook toward one of the doors leading off the hall.

"What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Harry questioned Hagrid, the feeling of unease had not left him. In fact, it felt like it had grown despite the confusion of his well... awake dream, Harry supposed he could call it. 

"Can't tell yeh that. Very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that."

Griphook held the door open for them. The passageway they walked into was made from stone and the only source of light were torches. (Did wizards not use lightbulbs?) At the end of the narrow passageway there was small cart waiting for them. The moment they managed to climbed in they were hurtling off.

Harry tried to remember which side of the many twisting paths they took but he couldn't. Since Griphook, something Harry mostly certainly noted despite how the cold air stung his eyes, was driving Harry assumed the cart was enchanted like how Hagrid had enchanted the boat. One time (after a sharp turn to the left) Harry could have sworn he had just witnessed burst of fire and immediately (which had caused some nausea) turned to see if it was a dragon,

(Though Harry knew perfectly well that it wasn't really her he could not suppress a shiver of - 

"The Dark Lord forgives those who have served him most faithfully in the past," said the woman, who at the very sight of her made Harry feel so much anger- no, hatred, in a most contemptuous manner.

Imperio. It hadn't worked; he had to mean them. 

"You need to really want to cause pain – to enjoy it – righteous anger won't hurt me for long – I'll show you how it is done, shall I? I'll give you a lesson-") 

but too late — Harry broke from those awake dreams as they plunged even deeper underground but Harry payed his surroundings no mind. 

Oh, his head. It ached so much and Harry could feel the blood sliding down his noise towards his lips - it tasted like metal - before some it fell onto Dudley's jeans that barely fit Harry. This time Harry didn't pay attention to the nosebleed but how his head hurt. More than the one time his head had slammed concrete that one time that Dudley had pushed him out of the way which said something. 

At last they stopped. Hagrid immediately ran out and tried not to puke as he leaned a wall. Griphook unlocked the door they had stopped at. Green smoke came billowing out, and as it cleared, Harry couldn't help but stare at the piles upon piles of gold coins. The columns of silver and piled of little bronze Knuts.

"All yours," Hagrid told him with a smile. 

It was all Harry's. It took a minute to process. The Dursleys couldn't have known about this or they'd have had it from him faster than blinking. How often had they complained how much Harry cost them to keep? Despite fact Harry wore all of Dudley's old clothes and had lived a in cupboard. 

And all the time there had been a small fortune belonging to him, buried deep under London. Thankfully Hagrid helped him pile some of it into a bag because Harry's head ache was still going strong. 

"The gold ones are Galleons," Hagrid explained. "Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough. Right, that should be enough fer a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for yeh." He turned to Griphook. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?" 

"One speed only," was Griphook's answer, who didn't even bother to look at Hagrid. 

They went even deeper now. When Harry leaned over to try and see what was down there Hagrid, who was groaning and looking quite sick, grabbed the scruff of his neck as though Harry was a kitten and pulled him back into the cart. When they reached the vault the first thing Harry noticed was the fact there was no key hole in sight. Griphook walked towards the vault after ordering them to stay back and simply stroked door gently with one of his long fingers as if the vault was a dog. Harry blinked, amazed, as the door simply melted away.

"If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they'd be sucked through the door and trapped in there," Griphook informed Hagrid and Harry. 

"How often do you check to see if anyone's inside?" Harry asked.

"About once every ten years," said Griphook with a rather nasty grin. And Harry was wondering (to quote his uncle) why in bloody hell had his dream self wanted to break in here. 

Despite his confusion or more accurately his dream self's sanity Harry couldn't help but lean forward. Curious what was in the room that had made him feel so much dead earlier. It had to be important to be inside this top security vault, Harry was sure. 

At first he thought it was empty. Then he noticed the tiny package wrapped up in grubby looking paper lying on the floor.nHagrid gently picked it up and tucked it deep inside his coat. Harry despite his burning curiosity didn't ask about the package. 

"Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut," said Hagrid.

One long and cold cart ride later they stood blinking in the sunlight that was rather bright outside of the wizarding bank. 

"Might as well get yer uniform," said Hagrid, nodding toward Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Harry, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." 

He did still look a bit sick, so Harry entered Madam Malkin's shop alone, feeling nervous. The feeling melted at the sight of Madam Malkin who kindly smiled at him despite he's sure to be messy appearance. 

"Hogwarts, dear?" she said, when Harry started to speak. "Got the lot here — another young man being fitted up just now, in fact. I'll get you a rag to clean that blood on your face too." 

Thankful, Harry gave her a bashful smile. 

After being allowed to wipe the blood of his face Madam Malkin took Harry to the back of the shop where a pale boy who had sharp features instead of baby fat in his face stood on a footstool while a second witch pinned up his long black robes. Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.

"Hello," the boy greeted Harry, "Hogwarts, too?" 

"Yes," Harry answered. 

"My father is buying my books and mother's up the street looking at wands," the boy told Harry in a bored and drawling voice that for some reason was familiar despite the fact Harry had just meet the kid. 

"Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll bully father into getting me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow." In that moment Harry was strongly reminded of cousin. 

"Have you got your own broom?" the boy went on. 

"No," Harry answered. 

"Play Quidditch at all?" 

"No," Harry answered quickly. His head was starting to ache again but thankfully his noise hadn't started bleeding. 

"I do — Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my house, and I must say, I agree. Know what house you'll be in yet?"

"No," said Harry and despite his head ache he was feeling more stupid by the minute. 

"Well, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been — imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

Wands out, d'you reckon? The words came to mind for some reason and Harry's stomach twisted in guilt.

"I say, look at that man!' said the boy suddenly, nodding toward the front window. Hagrid was standing there, grinning at Harry and pointing at two large ice creams to show he couldn't come in.

"That's Hagrid," said Harry, pleased to  
have something to distract him from the guilt he was feeling. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Oh," the boy muttered, "I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?" Harry was beginning to dislike the boy the more he talke-

("I can't – I can't be sure," said the man- no, the boy who Harry had been taking to just now. He was so worn looking and seemed as scared of looking at Harry as Harry was of looking at him.) 

"He's the gamekeeper," Harry informed the boy as soon as he snapped out of the dream. 

"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of savage — lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed." 

"I think you shouldn't believe in everything you hear instead of finding out yourself," said Harry coldly.

"Do you?" Asked the boy, with a certain look in his eyes. "Perhaps you're right," he murmured more to himself than Harry. 

There was silence for a minute. "Are your parents one of kind?" The boy asked boldly. 

("You're lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!"

Another terrible scream–

"The last time the Chamber of Secrets was opened, a Mudblood was killed by the monster."

He watched as teenage girl join the group and went to Snape's defense. Distantly he heard Snape shout at her in his humiliation and his fury, the unforgivable word: "Mudblood."

The scene changed… "I'm sorry."

"I'm not interested."

"I'm sorry!"

"Save your breath. ") 

"They're dead," Harry simply answered. He didn't feel much like going into the matter with this boy. Because that in the end was what mattered. Not if they were pure (inbreed), half, or a mud blood (muggle born). 

"Oh, sorry," said the boy though he didn't sound sorry at all. 

Before Harry could reply , Madam Malkin said, "That's you done, my dear," and Harry, not sorry for an excuse to get out of this awkward conversation, gracefully hopped down.

"Well, I'll see you at Hogwarts, I suppose," said the drawling boy as Harry walked out of the store. 

Harry was rather quiet as he ate the chocolate raspberry ice cream Hagrid had bought him. 

"What's up?" Hagrid asked concerned by the silence. 

"Nothing," Harry lied automatically (easily). 

They stopped to buy parchment and quills. Harry somewhat cheered up a bit when he found a bottle of ink that changed colour as you wrote. 

They bought Harry's school books in a shop called Flourish and Blotts where the shelves were stacked to the ceiling with books of all shapes and sizes from various different topics about magic. 

Even Dudley, who never read anything, would have been wild to get his hands on some of these. Hagrid almost had to drag Harry away from Curses and Counter-curses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and Much, Much More) by Professor Vindictus Viridian.

("I was trying to find out how to curse Dudley." 

"I'm not sayin' that's not a good idea, but yer not ter use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances," said Hagrid. "An' anyway, yeh couldn' work any of them curses yet, yeh'll need a lot more study before yeh get ter that level.") 

After picking up a pewter cauldron (which was on the list instead of gold) they then visited the Apothecary, which was fascinating enough to make up for its horrible smell, a mixture of bad eggs and rotted cabbages. Barrels of slimy stuff stood on the floor; jars of herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the walls; bundles of feathers, strings of fangs, and snarled claws hung from the ceiling. 

Outside the Apothecary, Hagrid checked Harry's list again.

"Just yer wand left — A yeah, an' I still haven't got yeh a birthday present." 

Harry felt himself go red. "You don't have to," Harry began to protest before being interrupted by Hagrid. 

"I know I don't have to. Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at — an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer mail an' everythin'."!

Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium, which had been dark and full of rustling and flickering, jewel-bright eyes. Harry now carried a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl that Harry had immediately named Hedwig (it seemed right, like that was the only name the owl could be named) who was asleep with her head under her snowy wing. 

If asked, Harry hadn't cried at Hagrid's birthday gift (at the sight of a long lost friend) but rather he had something in both his eyes. 

Next, they went to purchase Harry's wand. The shop was narrow and shabby. In peeling letters it could be read. Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C. A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. As soon as they stepped in a tinkling bell rang from somewhere in the wand shop. It was a tiny place but there were thousands of narrow boxes that (surely contained wands) piled neatly right up to the ceiling. 

"Good afternoon," a soft voice welcomed him and, shamelessly, Harry jumped out of fright but thankfully not of his body. 

Hagrid must have jumped, too, because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair he apparently sat on. An old man was standing before them. His pale, wide eyes were unnerving to look at. 

"Hello," Harry greeted somewhat awkwardly.

"Ah yes," the man muttered. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon again, Harrison." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes and the color of the curse that took her from you. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work." 

Mr Ollivander moved towards Harry and all could think of was the fact those creepy silvery eyes had yet to blink. (Harry wished he would blink.)

"Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it — it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course." 

Mr Ollivander had come so close that he and Harry were almost nose to nose. Harry could see himself reflected in those misty eyes. "And that's where…l Mr Ollivander touched the lightning scar on Harry's forehead with a long, white finger. 

"I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it,'" the old wizard confessed softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful, and in the wrong hands… well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do…" 

He shook his head and then, to Harry's relief, spotted Hagrid.

"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again… Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"

"It was, sir, yes," said Hagrid.

"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?'" Mr Ollivander asked, suddenly stern.

"Er — yes, they did, yes," Hagrid admitted, shuffling his feet like a child would when caught red handed doing something they ought not be doing. "I've still got the pieces, though," he added brightly.

"But you don't use them?" Mr Ollivander asked sharply.

"Oh, no, sir," said Hagrid quickly. Harry noticed he gripped his pink umbrella very tightly as he spoke.

"Hmmm," Mr Ollivander muttered in disbelief as he gave Hagrid one last unnerving look. "Well, now — Mr Potter. Let me see." He pulled a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. "Which is your wand arm?" 

"Er — well, I'm right-handed," said Harry.

"Hold out your arm. That's it." He measured Harry from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit and round his head. As he measured, he said, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Mr Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard's wand." 

Harry suddenly realised that the tape measure, which was measuring between his nostrils, was doing this on its own.  
Mr Ollivander was flitting around the shelves, taking down boxes.

"That will do," he said, and the tape measure crumpled into a heap on the floor. "Right then, Mr Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave." 

Harry took the wand and (feeling foolish) waved it around a bit, but Mr Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost at once.

"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy. Try —" 

Harry tried — but he had hardly raised the wand when it, too, was snatched back by Mr Ollivander.

"No, no — here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out." 

Harry tried. And tried. And tried again. He had no idea what Mr Ollivander was waiting for. The pile of tried wands was mounting higher and higher on the spindly chair, but the more wands Mr Ollivander pulled from the shelves, the happier he seemed to become.

"Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we'll find the perfect match here somewhere — I wonder, now — yes, why not — unusual combination — holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple." 

Harry took the wand. He felt a sudden warmth in his fingers. He raised the wand above his head, brought it swishing down through the dusty air and a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light on to the walls. Hagrid whooped and clapped and Mr Ollivander cried, "Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well… how curious… how very curious…" 

He put Harry's wand back into its box and wrapped it in brown paper, still muttering, "Curious… curious…"

"Sorry," Harry interrupted not that all apologetic, 'but what's curious?'

Mr Ollivander fixed Harry with his pale stare. "I remember every wand I've ever sold, Mr Harrison. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather — just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother — why, its brother gave you that scar or rather will give you that scar. Brother against brother. Father against son." 

Harry shivered. He wasn't sure he liked Mr Ollivander too much. He paid seven gold Galleons for his wand, and Mr Ollivander bowed them from his shop.

The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky as Harry and Hagrid made their way back down Diagon Alley, back through the wall, back through the Leaky Cauldron, now empty. Harry didn't speak at all as they walked down the road; he didn't even notice how much people were gawking at them on the Underground, laden as they were with all their funny-shaped packages, with the snowy owl asleep in its cage on Harry's lap.

Up another escalator, out into Paddington station; Harry only realised where they were when Hagrid tapped him on the shoulder.

"Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves," he said.

He bought Harry a hamburger and they sat down on plastic seats to eat them. Harry kept looking around. Everything looked so strange, somehow.

"You all right, Harry? Yer very quiet," said Hagrid.

Harry wasn't sure he could explain. He'd just had the best birthday of his life despite the head aches — and yet — he chewed his hamburger, trying to find the words.

"Everyone thinks I'm special," he admitted at last. "All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr Ollivander… but I don't know anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things? I'm famous and I can't even remember what I'm famous for. I don't know what happened when Vol-, sorry — I mean, the night my parents died." 

Hagrid leaned across the table. Behind the wild beard and eyebrows he wore a very kind smile.

"Don' you worry, Harry. You'll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you'll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it's hard. Yeh've been singled out, an' that's always hard. But yeh'll have a great time at Hogwarts — I did — still do, 'smatter of fact." 

Hagrid helped Harry on to the train that would take him back to the Dursleys, then handed him an envelope.

"Yer ticket fer Hogwarts," he said. "First o' September — King's Cross — it's all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter with yer owl, she'll know where to find me…. See yeh soon, Harry." 

The train pulled out of the station. Harry wanted to watch Hagrid until he was out of sight; he rose in his seat and pressed his nose against the window, but he blinked and Hagrid had disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my Gallifrey. I don't know if I want to bang my head or just cry at how long this chapter took. 
> 
> Also how long has J.K.Rowling been planning the FBAWTFT series since Newt and his book, FBAWTFT, was mentioned in this chapter?
> 
> Well I'm going fall into my bed and sleep for a week (I wish). Hope you enjoyed.


	7. Not the sane person you were yesterday.

Consciousness came with a spore throat and tears running down his face. Thankfully, Harry's relatives are heavy sleepers so he doesn't have to worry about having woke them up. 

Harry just stayed in the bed as his heart slowly stopped trying to escape his chest.  
Dumbly staring at the ceiling even though he couldn't see anything. 

He's always had insane (that might not the that insane) dreams and nightmares. Usually his nightmares are about of a flash of green light and cruel laughter that was chilling to the bone. 

Lately, he's nightmares have been worse. Ever since Diagon Alley now Harry was thinking about it. The funny thing is he doesn't remember them. He just wakes up terrified. His heart beating as fast as a rabbit's. When he eventually sneaks  
out of the bedroom to wash the tears from his face sometimes he stares down at his wrist as he though...

Something; as if something should be there. And Harry doesn't know why. Something is wrong with him. It wasn't surprising. His aunt and uncle had always informed him that he was a freak but after learning about being a wizard Harry had hopped it would all make sense. It would stop. That it would at least be controlled! 

He wants to scream. He wants to cry. He doesn't do either of these things despite the sick feeling that claws at his chest. 

Instead, his fingers curl tightly into the old sheets on the bed. He listens to Hedwig's snores and just tries to breath himself. Harry knows he's breathing but it feels as if there's no breath in him. Or it's kinda like that time Dudley pushed him into the school's toilet and when Harry had thrashed about trying to get from away from his cousin had breathed in some of the water. Except it's slower. It's like the water is slowly filling his lungs and Harry, despite all his thrashing, is slowly drowning helplessly. 

Harry never gone to Church. He doesn't know if there such a thing - a being - as a God now that he knows about magic. He just wishes something or someone out there helps him. Fixes Harry and his insanity. 

\- 

The moment they reached King's Cross, Uncle Vernon, without wasting a second, dumped Harry's trunk onto a cart and wheeled it into the station for him. Which was out of the ordinary act of kindness for his uncle. 

It didn't make sense till his Uncle Vernon stopped dead, facing the platforms with a rather nasty grin on his face that was worthy competition for the Grinch's own grin. 

"Well, there you are, boy. Platform nine — platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don't seem to have built it yet, do they?" 

Harry didn't bother to answer, too busy staring at the sight before him. Or more accurately: the bricks. 

"Have a good term," Harry's uncle told Harry in a sickening sweet tone with with an even nastier smile on his face. 

He left without another word. Harry turned and saw the Dursleys drive away. All three of them were laughing but it didn't matter. 

He knew the way but this time (or rather in reality instead of dreams) there was no kind hearted ginger haired family to guide him. That changes everything and nothing. 

\- 

Harry walks into an empty train compartment and his eyes immediately sweep it even though there's no one there. 

His heart aches in his chest and Harry stumbles onto the seats. Hedwig immediately informs Harry she didn't like the rough movement. It makes him give a small smile that doesn't reach his eyes. At least he has her. After another minute of being told off by the snowy owl, Hegwig let's him pet her without nipping at his fingers. 

-

The red hair he was braiding was as soft as Mr. Tibbles was Harry's first and perhaps rather odd thought. 

There's silence in the dream. It's not awkward but rather comforting unlike when Harry had been alone in his compartment on the Hogwarts express. 

Harry, despite never having any luck with taming his own hair or having any experience braiding other people's hair, somehow manages to make a pretty decent French braid. Despite the oddness of the dream (But then again when had Harry dream sanely? He had once dreamt about having a conversation with Death - death with a capital d not a lowercase d - on the neighborhood playground talking about multiple deaths and the multiverse.) Harry couldn't help but feel proud of his dream accomplishment. 

"Thank you," the girl tells him once he finished her. Her smile was kind but her eyes were so sad. "Do you want some advice baby Harrison?" She asks him with a completely serious face. Odd; he's name is Harry not Harrison and he wasn't a bab- wait, hadn't Hagrid and Mr. Ollivander mistakingly called him Harrison at least once?

At the realization that perhaps it wasn't odd after all and it might be a wizard thing Harry finally replied to the stranger in his dream. "Sure." 

"Why did the god fairy wait till the ball to save Cinderella?" The teenage girl asked him and Harry blinked. 

"Didn't you say you'd give advice not a question?" Harry asked the girl with sad eyes that had goat in her lap that Harry was pretty sure wasn't there a second ago. 

The girl nodded as though Harry made an excellent point that she hadn't thought of. "I did didn't I baby Harrison? My bad." 

The girl wrapped the goat's hair around her ring finger before unwrapping it and starting the process over. "Goats make excellent apologies and chocolate cookies calm down Death," she wisely told him and Harry was left even more confused. 

Before Harry could utter out a what he woke up to a voice saying they would be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time and please leave luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately. 

Sluggishly Harry checked the compartment in case someone had entered it while he was a sleep; there was no one thankfully. Quickly, Harry took off his jacket that Harry barely fit in and changed into the black robes that did fit him. 

Despite his stomach lurching in fear Harry went to exit the compartment only stop. Turning around, Harry looked at his sleeping owl. "See you soon," he whispers to the only friend he has before joining the crowd in the corridor. There was a lot of excited pushing and pulling along with some rather sharp elbows in the crowd as everyone made their way outside the train. 

It was cold, was Harry's first thought at arriving at Hogwarts. Really cold. Shivering Harry waited for something or anything to bring them to the school so they could get of the cold. 

There it was. Suddenly there was a bright lamp that loomed above the students, and Harry heard a familiar voice. 

"Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Harry?" Hagrid's big hairy face could be seen by the lamp light. He beamed over the sea of heads. 

"C'mon, follow me — any more firs' years? Mind yer step, now! Firs' years follow me!" 

They, the first years and Harry, moved about with the grace of a fawn as they followed Hagrid down a path; which is to say there was no grace but a lot of tripping and stumbling about. 

No one spoke but there was some sniffling as they made their way through the narrow path. 

"Yeh'll get yer firs' sight o' Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid called over his shoulder, "jus' round this bend here."

There was a loud "Oooooh!" 

The path had opened suddenly onto the edge of a giant black lake. Perched atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky, was a vast castle with many turrets and towers.

"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid called, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. 

After several minutes of shuffling, a few "ow" cried out, and a boy asking about a missing Trevor. Hagrid, who had his own boat, finally spoke. 

"Everyone in? Right then — FORWARD 

The fleet of small boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone was silent as they stared up at their new school. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff on which it stood.

"Heads down!" yelled Hagrid as the first boats reached the cliff; they all bent their heads and the little boats carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the cliff face.

They were carried along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor, where they clambered out onto rocks and pebbles.

"Oi, you there! Is this your toad?" said Hagrid, who was checking the boats as the children climbed out of them.

"Trevor!" cried out the boy from earlier. 

After the boy had secured his toad, they clambered up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp, coming out at last onto smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle. They walked up a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge, oak front door.

"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?" 

Hagrid raised his first and knocked three times on the castle door. Immediately, the door was opened to reveal a black haired women with a rather stern face. Harry's first thought was that this was not someone to cross.

"The firs' years, Professor McGonagall,'" Hagrid informed the woman. 

"Thank you, Hagrid. I will take them from here." She pulled the door as wide as it could be opened. Harry stood on his toes to peer through the sea of heads infront of him. The first thing he noted was how vast the entrance hall, whose only light was torches on the wall, was before noting staircase made of marble that faced them. 

They, thankfully since it was still freezing outside despite their robes, followed Professor McGonagall into the entrance hall. Harry could hear hundreds if not thousands of voices from a doorway to the right. All the older students must already be here, Harry thought as Professor McGonagall showed them into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," said Professor McGonagall before going into a speech about the sorting, Hogwarts houses, and rule breaking. "I hope each of you will be a credit to whichever house becomes yours. The Sorting Ceremony will take place in a few minutes in front of the rest of the school. I suggest you all smarten yourselves up as much as you can while you are waiting." 

Her shrewd eyes lingered for a moment on  
the cloak of the boy with the pet toad and ginger haired boy who had a smudged noise. Harry, knowing better, didn't even attempt at taming his hair. Just because he managed to braid the sad girl's hair that didn't mean his hair was going to flatten. 

'"I shall return when we are ready for you," said Professor McGonagall. "Please wait quietly." She left the chamber and Harry immediately swallowed. Nervousness began to bubble in his stomach; what if Harry didn't belong any house? 

What then? Would he been sent back to his aunt and uncle? Harry suddenly felt cold despite the warmth of the torches that brightly hung from the walls. 

The silence in room (save for one girl muttering under her breath) and Harry's fears were interrupted by several screams from the group of first years. Without a moments hesitation Harry whirled around to only gasp. There were about twenty ghosts- actually ghosts - that were pearly white and slightly transparent. They also were arguing. 

"Forgive and forget, I say, we ought to give him a second chance —"

"My dear Friar, haven't we given Peeves all the chances he deserves?" 

"He gives us all a bad name and you know, he's not really even a ghost — I say, what are you all doing here?" A ghost wearing a ruff and tights who been taking to the fat little ghost monk known as Friar suddenly noticed them. 

"New students!" Friar cried out in joy, smiling and beaming at them. "About to be Sorted, I suppose?" 

Harry didn't reply nor nod unlike a few somewhat brace (or perhaps polite) fellow first years did. 

"Hope to see you in Hufflepuff!" said the Friar. "My old house, you know." 

"Move along now," Professor McGonagall told the ghosts. Her voice sharp as any kitchen knife at the Dursleys' house. "The Sorting Ceremony's about to start." 

Slowly the ghost floated away from them into an opposite wall.

"Now, form a line," Professor McGonagall firmly told them, "and follow me."

His legs felt as though they had fallen asleep on him. Somehow, he managed to get into the line without tripping on his face like a fool. Slowly but surely the line of first years walked out of the chamber, back across the hall, and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

It was beautiful, was Harry's first thought as his eager eyes took in the thousands and thousands of candles that were floating in midair over four long tables. The four tables where the older students were sitting. 

At the top of the hall was another long table where the teachers were sitting. Professor McGonagall led the first years up here, so that they came to a halt in a line facing the other students, with the teachers behind them. 

There would be hundreds of faces (a mix of eager, tired, and sullen) staring at them.  
To avoid the stares of hundreds Harry looked up and stared at the ceiling that was dotted with bright stars that stood out against the inky black. 

He heard the girl from earlier (the one who had been muttering spells under her breath) say something about the ceiling being bewitched and something about a Hogwarts, A History.

Eventually, Harry was forced to look down and pay attention to his surroundings as  
Professor McGonagall silently placed a four-legged stool in front of the first years. On top of the stool she put a pointed wizard's hat Harry had seen in Dudley's Sunday cartoons. 

It was old, some pieces badly patched (something even Harry could see from where he was), and rather dirty. 

Before Harry could speculate on what the hat was there for it started singing. Harry blinked rather owlishly despite having his glasses on. Harry, despite having know the existence of magic for weeks now, felt the urge to pinch himself as the hat explained (in song) that it was the Hogwarts Sorting Hat and that was nothing you could hide from it. Then it sang about all four houses and what personality traits belong in each house. 

Gryffindor was for the brave and thrill seeking. Hufflepuff was for loyalty and hard working. Ravenclaw was for witty and those hungry to learn. Slytherin was for cunningness and ambition. 

Once that hat finished it's song the whole hall burst into applause. It bowed to each of the four tables and then became quite still again.

Professor McGonagall now stepped forward holding a long roll of parchment. "When I call your name, you will put on the hat and sit on the stool to be sorted," she explained to the first years. "Abbott, Hannah!" 

The girl with bright pink cheeks and sunny blonde pigtails was sorted into Hufflepuff the moment the hat touched her head. 

The table on the right cheered and clapped for the girl. Fat Friar waving merrily at Hannah. Susan Bones, who was the next person after Hannah, also was sorted into Hufflepuff. 

Terry Boot into Ravenclaw. The table second from the left clapped this time; several Ravenclaws stood up to shake hands with Terry as he joined them. Mandy Brocklehurst was sorted into Ravenclaw ask well. 

Lavender Brown into Gryffindor, Millicent Buldtrofr into Slytherin, Justin Finch-Fletchley was sorted into Hufflepuff, Seamus Finnigan was in Gryffindor and on and on it went. Hermione Granger, a girl with thick bushy hair and rather large front teeth, was sorted into Slytherin. On and on it went. Neville Longbottom, the boy with the toad, was sorted into Gryffindor. The boy who Harry had talked to while his robes were fitted was sorted into Slytherin. 

It seemed like a life time for Harry's name to be called. As soon as Professor McGonagall read it off her scroll there were whispers that broke out in the Great Hall. Despite the fear of failing - of the hat saying he couldn't sort Harry because he's insane (wrong, freak even to wizards) and then being sent back to his relatives - Harry made his way forward and sat on the stool. 

The last thing Harry sees before the singing hat is dropped over his eyes was hundreds of students staring him. The fear in his stomach tightens and he wishes that 

The hat gives a hmm. "You're very difficult and befuddled," it tells Harry and Harry can't help but think: a going difficult or a bad difficult? 

"Plenty of courage," it tells him and Harry can't help but not believe that. He's not brave. He's been so scared for so long. Rather it be from the fear of being kicked out of Hogwarts before he starts school, the fear that's something is wrong with him - that his is insane, or becoming like the Dursle- 

"You cannot be brave without fear," the hat tells him before pausing. Harry's nails digg into the wooden stool. Suddenly, the hat gave a tsk. "It’s no use going back to yesterday, back to sanity, because you troublesome boy are now a different person then than you are now. So is the girl and some extent the boy. You'll find each other though. You always do," Harry (as weird as it sounds) could hear the smile in the hat's words. 

"Hufflepuff!" The hat yells out and unlike before with all the numerous sortings silence is the only thing that greets the sorting announcement. It isn't till Harry makes his way towards his house's table that the clapping and cheering starts. 

It was too late a sickle short.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1.) You know how I mentioned things are going to go off the train tracks? Yeah I wasn't joking. Harry's been sorted into Hufflepuff (which yes will explained later even though canon Harry does show traits of a Hufflepuff throughout the books) and Hermione in Slytherin.
> 
> Harry adopting Tom wasn't stepping on a butterfly it was massacring several hundreds of butterflies. If you payed attention last chapter there was a Easter Egg on how much things have changed. Voldemort's plans and world views are slightly different (so poor Hermione) but on the upside Harry gets less murder attempts. 
> 
> 2.) Yes that was Ariana in the dream and we'll sort of see her in a few chapters but we won't meet her until book three despite my love of her character.
> 
> 3.) You may now throw stones at me.

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: this fic will be updated irregularly.


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